


My Hands

by PinkPaperStars



Series: Soft QrowWatts Family AU [1]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Blood and Gore, Death, Explosions, Graphic mentions of fluff, I have soft QrowWatts feelings okay!, Idiots in Love, Love and Happiness, M/M, Mentions of Team OJNR, Mentions of Team RWBY - Freeform, mentions of others - Freeform, post salem defeat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:13:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23485129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkPaperStars/pseuds/PinkPaperStars
Summary: Arthur has a bad dream about his past, but he does not want to forget it. Because he would not have his current life without it.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Arthur Watts
Series: Soft QrowWatts Family AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1689613
Kudos: 8





	My Hands

**Author's Note:**

> How did they defeat Salem? No idea. Power of Love and friendship or something. *Shrugs shoulders*  
> I have lots of soft feelings sometimes.

When Arthur sleeps, he dreams of memories. 

Arthur dreams of an explosion. Of metal screeching and whining under pressure. Of glass shattering and becoming shrapnel to those unprotected. The hiss of hot air from broken pipes and chemicals. The hum of hard light dust having solidified into sheets.

And the screams. Of scientists, of soldiers, of Huntsmen caught in the chaos he created. People screaming from shrapnel injuries. From being caught under fallen machines and cement and metal pieces. From losing limbs, from being impaled. From people being trapped and unable to escape the roar of flames across caustic chemicals.

It's a symphony of sounds.

It's a painting of a massacre. 

He doesn't know how many people are screaming and dying around him. But he knows not all of then will be found to be mourned properly by their families. They were too close to the explosion. All their families will get is a flag from the military.

There is so much blood.

It feels like too much blood. It is everywhere. On the floors, on the walls, burning in the fires. It was on ceilings, machines, equipment. 

It feels like too much blood. It's in his shoes, his hair, his clothes. It's all over his hands. 

But Arthur was not close to the carnage he wrought. He had been far enough away to avoid all of this. 

In reality. 

This is a dream. He thought to himself. Though less of a dream and more of a hellish nightmare he'd never escape. 

There was nothing he could do. He couldn't stop something he'd already done. He couldn't bring these people back. 

I'd like to wake up now, he tried to reason with his dream. He choked and coughed, spitting up the blood of his co-workers. He was drowning in their blood. 

Clawing at his neck, coughing and spitting out blood, to stop himself from drowning. But there was too much. 

There was always going to be too much. 

-

Arthur jerked awake in a cold sweat. His blankets had already been kicked off, and his pillows were on the floor. His hands were shaking, and he felt terrible.

It had been a while since he had that dream. But he knew it wasn't ever going to go away. At this point, he wasn't sure if he wanted it to. He wanted to remember, to make sure he never forgot, to make sure he never took a step backwards. 

He needed the memory, to remind him to keep moving forward, and to never step backwards again. 

After a few deep breaths, he checked that the other laying in bed was still asleep. Good, he hadn't kicked him awake. 

He crawled off the bed, the alarm clock let him know it was four am. The dark sky littered with stars let him know the rest of the house would be sleeping a while longer. Hopefully. It was hard to say. 

Arthur stretched his arms above his head, letting his shoulders and back crack softly as he stretched. He moved to the dresser, collecting a loose tee shirt and a pair of briefs. He wasn't getting dressed, just dressed enough to wander around the small house. He would need to put on more clothes later, this was enough for now. 

He stepped into the bathroom, closing the door quietly behind him. It took a moment to pull his clothes on, before flicking on the light. 

Arthur had bags under his eyes. He wasn't sure those were ever going to go away. From sleepless nights studying, from angry nights trying to out work his colleagues, nights and day he avoided sleeping to run away from the horrible things he'd done, nights spent working in fear of Salem's retribution for betraying him. And now nights interrupted by nightmares he didn't run from anymore. 

He turned the taps on low, feeling the itch on his skin. They want to wash away non-existent blood that still soaked his skin. 

He use to scrub his hands until they were raw. Cracked and bleeding, trying to clean himself of something he would never be clean of again. He would wash, and wash, and wash until he couldn't anymore. 

Now he filled his hands with the cool water and splashed his face. He towel dried his face before brushing his teeth. He knew he wasn't going to be able to fall back asleep, so he might as well start getting ready for his day. 

After he finished brushing his teeth he washed his hands. Counting to 20, not to make sure he washed for long enough, to make sure he didn't wash for too long.

Arthur put the lotion the other had bought him on his hands, good for chapped and dry skin. To stop his skin from cracking. 

It smelled earthy, deep and rich. Like dirt and grass. It was a small the clinical doctor would have hated before preferring something sterile smelling. But it brought him so much comfort, smelling like the person who had bought it for him. 

Finished with the minimal morning routine, Arthur slipped out of the bathroom. He carefully stepped over the dew articles of clothes that he not yet made their way to a laundry hamper and out the open door. His feet padded softly against the wood floors, and down the stairs. The house was cool, and relaxing. All closed up to keep the summer heat out. 

Arthur opened the front door, the back door and the window over the kitchen sink, to let the cold air in, to keep the house cool for when the summer's warm tried to breathe life into the house in the afternoon. 

He listened to the air gently blowing through leaves and grass, and the crickets chirping outside the windows. The rustling of small nocturnal creatures roaming through the yard. He lost himself in the enjoyment while he made coffee. 

He had closed his eyes and enjoyed the quiet serenity, the songs of the outside so much he hadn't heard the sound of approaching feet. 

Arthur did not jump or startle when arms wrapped around his waist, and a chin pressed into his shoulder. A pair of lips kissed his neck softly. There was nothing to fear here, there was nothing to run from. This was home. 

Qrow was home. 

"You should be sleeping," Qrow kissed his neck, the stubble scratched softly at his skin. His arms were warm. "Before the little bird wakes up, the hellion," 

Arthur chuckled, holding his coffee cup. He leaned his head back on Qrow's shoulder. "Sorry. Couldn't sleep anymore. Did I wake you?" 

"Nah. The bed was just cold without you," The huntsman wrapped his arms a little bit tighter around him. "Bad dreams again?" 

"Yes," He sipped his coffee. There was no need to hide it. Qrow knew, he knew everything. There was nothing to hide from him. The realist, not that Qrow would ever admit it, was the sunny spot in the darkness From Arthur. The nihilist who thought scorching the world was the only way to make it better, was pulled out of all of his darkness and bad deeds. 

Qrow didn’t ask him to forget. To move on from what he’d done. 

But he asked him to remember, the good his hands were capable of. 

Qrow’s hands moved in slow circles in front of his face. “Bad dreams, bad dreams, go away. Bad dreams, bad dreams go away,” He kissed the other’s neck again softly. 

Arthur turned around in the other’s arms, only to be met with a kiss on the forehead. It was part of the ‘magic spell’ they used on their ‘little bird’ to soothe him after nightmares. Arthur chuckled softly, as the other grinned at him. 

“It only works if you believe, remember?” 

“I believe,” 

With all they had seen, and been through, it was impossible not to believe in magic. Even if it was just a tradition passed down in the Branwen tribe to soothe children after bad dreams. Besides, it always seemed to work for their little bird. 

“Will you come back to bed?” 

“I think not, I have some things to prepare before I go see a few patients today,”

“Always busy, Dr. Branwen,” Qrow took his hand and kissed the silver wedding band. A sweet and loving gesture. 

Brothers, what had Arthur done to deserve all this? 

After Salem’s defeat, which had been no small feat, Arthur was still a wanted man by Atlas. Qrow wouldn’t hear anything about Arthur turning himself in. Despite all the help and insight he had given to helping stop Salem, it didn’t change what he’d done to Atlas. But Qrow was convinced that Arthur could do more good in the world than facing a death sentence in Atlas.  
So Arthur took Qrow’s hand and ran with him. 

They settled in Patch. In a little house not far from Qrow’s brother-in-law and nieces. A small house, with hardwood floors and large windows. To let the sun stream into the home. A house that smelled of baked goods and cooked meals. A yard lush with grass and trees, a small garden and flower beds. 

A backyard that they got married in. Where Arthur took Qrow’s last name. It was convenient, no one was looking for Arthur Branwen, small town doctor. They were looking for Arthur Watts, disgraced Atlesian scientist. A man wanted for domestic terrorism. 

And Taking Qrow’s last name meant more than just convience. 

It meant leaving Atlas, leaving behind a world of high expectations, and high society. Leaving behind a large empty house, where we grew up unloved and raised to be an asset to the family name. It meant to have a home, a family, and love. 

“I just have a few repairs today. So I’m hoping to be home for lunch,”

“Magpie will be happy,” 

Magpie. That was something he never expected to have in his lip. Arthur had never thought he would have children. Not even before everything horrible he had done. The scientist had never wanted children, too worried that he would be like his parents. Either an unloving alcoholic like his mother, or manipulative and uncaring like his father. And after all his horrible decisions and actions children had certainly not been a thing he had ever considered.

Even when Qrow had brought up the idea of having one of their own, he had hesitated. He didn’t think he would be a good father. It was different to have Qrow and his orphan's coming and going from the small home. Having a baby was different than having a revolving door for young adults that came and went. 

Different from finding Oscar sleeping in the spare room. From finding Ren and Nora helping themselves to their kitchen. From waking up to Emerald on their couch and Mercury in Arthur’s office. 

But despite his hesitation, he agreed. 

And never looked back. From the first day he held Magpie, when their surrogate had given birth. He loved their son more than anything. Their little bird, their hellion, their Magpie. 

Or Cutie-pie to his older cousins who were enamoured with the boy. 

“He’s not going to be happy when we have to weed the garden after a nap,” Arthur chuckled, and sipped his coffee.

“Well he’ll just chase the old tom cat around,” 

“True,” He kissed Qrow softly. “Go back to sleep, you’ll have your hands full in the morning,” 

“You sure?” 

“Of course, though I’m sure I’ll see you in a few hours when the little bird starts squawking,” 

“True,” Qrow wrapped his arms tightly around the other’s waist for a moment, before kissing him again. “I love you,”

“I love you too,” Qrow detangled his limbs from Arthur before retreating back up stairs. To crawl back into bed in his sweatpants and sleep a few more hours before their toddler demanded their attention. 

Arthur took his coffee to the kitchen table, pulling his files over that he had pulled out the night before. 

Patch hadn’t had a doctor in a while capable of repairing prosthetics. Arthur was a heaven sent, according to many of them. Prefering to have the metal limbs repaired in Patch over being replaced in Beacon. He liked his work, it felt good. To use his skills to help others again. To make sure that the people of Patch were looked after. 

And occasionally, if requested, a Huntsman or Huntress that needed a high end, custom made prosthetic. Glynda Goodwitch, the Headmistress of Beacon, seemed quite content to pretend not to know how he was. And in turn, he was more than happy to look after her slew of Huntsmen that needed assistance. 

Apparently she disliked James Ironwood nearly as much as him. 

After several minutes of enjoying the music of the world outside his house, Arthur opened his files and got to work. 

He wanted nothing more than to enjoy each day he had with this life and this family.


End file.
